31.10.17 - Bunda mole

Wotcha,

Hope all well. More of the same this past week, with Gaby hammering the last few nails in her thesis coffin, Ridaut off firing rifles on a grassy knoll in Dallas (the same week the JFK files were declassified, no less), an outspoken painter redecorating the in-laws' flat in between lengthy right-wing diatribes, and me finishing up my punishing physio/electroshock regime, for now at least. 

As we wait for summer to properly kick in, we've been working on our recipes (including caramelized apple turnovers and a sensational chocolate mousse) and binging Stranger Things 2, while I've made a bitchin' compilation plus a bonus Halloween mixtape (as have NASA, coincidentally...).

My phrase of the day (pronounced "bunda molly") is a personal favourite, referring to anyone of a less than valorous disposition - either a coward, or someone who never takes the initiative, or both. It translates literally as "limp bottom", and is wonderfully versatile (the English equivalent would probably be "wet blanket").  And finally, I would be remiss if I didn't share this excellent video about the annual Silly Walk in Brno, Czech Republic.

Bye for nye,

Busted by the Freds

24.10.17 - Tomaten auf den Augen haben

Hallooo,

How's things witchoo? A particularly taxing week of work and physio wrapped up with a trip to an all-you-can-eat sushi place up the road on Friday, for a freebie meal courtesy of Gaby's gym (long story) - ruddy good stuff, and reminiscent of my View/Fluid London reign of terror.  The next night we went to a birthday/house party with some of the folks from Greece, and have been recovering ever since.

Otherwise I've been prepping for my upcoming trip, while Ridaut and Bill headed off to the States under Doug's American Airlines stewardship, and were apparently re-routed from Miami to a Pensacola motel with one double bed, before eventually making it to Dallas yesterday. This week's phrase comes from our German cousins, and means "to have tomatoes on one's eyes", or to not see the obvious.

It's all over bar the compilations...

Goodnight you princes of Maine, you kings of New England!

Machine Fred

17.10.17 - Se cochilar o cachimbo cai

Wa'gwan? 

All is well over here, I've been a-speechwriting and a-compilation-making, and we've had all sorts of people round over the long weekend (NB: long for Brazilians, with their Children Day, Day of the Lady of the Lake and Friday off as well for some reason - not that I'm bitter at having to work straight through 'til Saturday or anything), including Bill and co. to literally change a lightbulb (we made a day of it obviously) and the couples from a fortnight ago to finish off the leftover goods from an earlier BBQ.  

In other news I've started physio sessions, which involve hooking up electrodes to my ankle and blasting it with that sweet, sweet ankle juice; and my phrase of the week translates to: "if you nap, your pipe will fall", so basically: "you snooze you lose (your pipe)".

Speak soon! Until then it's goodnight from me,

And it's goodnight from me.

The Galactic Frederation

10.10.17 - Tarja preta

Hallooo,

Lovely to chat yesterday. All is well here - I'm free from the roboboot but still limping and about to start physiotherapy at my old haunt down the road, so fingers and gammy ankles crossed.   

I was able to provide moral and tech support to Gaby as she "qualified" for her masters at PUC on Friday morning, following a two-hour grilling from a man on Skype and the handing out of nibbles.  And despite the rain setting in over the weekend I struck out to watch Blade Runner 2049 in head-explodingly loud IMAX 3D, which was some kind of something (have completely forgotten the actual plot already, but twas amazing to gawp at for three hours), followed by pizza at Graça di Napolli with Gaby and her grandma, in a dress rehearsal for Italy later this year.

Yesterday morning it was back to work, but not before Valente systematically dismantled a giant Black Witch moth that had somehow flown in through the netting outside, until we put it out of its misery and spent a good half-hour cleaning up its mortal remains.  Pretty intense stuff.

I've made a rather moody, synthy compilation - play it while looking at this still of Harrison Ford accidentally punching Ryan Gosling, and occasionally blasting a Hans Zimmer airhorn, and you'll have the full Blade Runner 2049 experience from the comfort of your own home.  And my phrase of the week is shorthand for individuals with a few screws missing, a reference to the tarja preta (black stripe/band) on the side of controlled, prescription-only meds.

All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. Time to... 

Bye!

03.10.17 - Água que passarinho não bebe

Halloooo,

Week #3 in a cast and confined to quarters, I try to pace restlessly but instead am forced to hobble around in a manner most undignified. I stand on the balcony making up back-stories for everyone in the surrounding high-rises, but none are particularly interesting. The cat eyes me with barely disguised pity and harangues me incessantly for attention and food. I suspect the palm trees in the garden are cheating on each other. Much more of this and I shall surely lose my mind.

On the plus side we had some of the region's leading power couples over on Saturday for Michelle's belated birthday do, in which I learnt how to use the BBQ and dispensed passionfruit caipirinhas from our makeshift bar, followed by heavy napping on Sunday. And yesterday afternoon I went back to the ankle doctor, who assured me there is light at the end of the tunnel.

I've gone and made two rather downbeat compilations, and today's phrase - "water that the little bird doesn't drink" - is a handy euphemism for cachaça, aka the devil's mouthwash (another good one is "pão liquido", or "liquid bread", to refer to beer). May it serve you well.

'Til the next time,

He's Fred, Jim